Counsel Hope
by ElocinMuse
Summary: *hops on the bandwagon* Just another post-100th ep oneshot. Brennan's actions have a downward-spiraling effect on Booth, much to her increasing dismay.


She hasn't been able to find him anywhere.

His home yielded no results, the same with his office, the gym, and the shooting range. Each place had recalled his presence prior to her mad search when she'd learned he'd called in to say he wouldn't be attending work that day.

So now here she is. With an awful, wrenching feeling in her gut. One of the fire range attendees mentioned they had seen him here.

The bright, flickering letters pave her chosen path, blood red and ominous despite the rather slight size.

P-O-O-L.

When she goes in, the dread in the pit of her stomach increases, moreso when her eyes find him at last.

Playing pool.

While almost certainly inebriated.

_Gambling_.

She's rendered nearly to tears at the sight, because she knows the catalyst of this horrible regression.

Determined, she hurries over to him, pushing herself between him and the table. "Booth, what are you _doing_?"

A little put off at her interference and sudden arrival, it takes him a moment to form a response. Guilt flashes briefly across his face, only to be deliberately swallowed a second later. His dark eyes stare at her, boring, and partially clouded over. "I'm moving on," he announces finally, and a little loudly. He shrugs, gripping his pool stick with one hand. The harshness to his tone surprises and stings her. "Isn't that what you agreed I should do? This game is so much more nurturing than anthropologists, I've found."

With that, he moves to brush past her, thereby dismissing her presence.

She intercepts him, though, gripping desperately at his sleeve. "Booth, _stop_ _it_. You have to stop—"

"Let go of me," he growls, yanking his arm away.

Something inside Brennan shatters. "Booth, _please_! _Please_, don't do this to yourself." She tries to stay the anxiety from her voice, failing in do so. Tears spring up into her eyes as she makes another attempt to stray him from the vicinity. "Not because of me, not because of anyone. Don't," she begs.

They stare, at a standoff and gaining the attention of the bar's other occupants. His steely resolve begins to weaken at her imploring gaze. She pours every ounce of hope and need into this silent exchange.

A flicker of something ghosts over his face. Then, without another word, he turns away from her to sink the eight ball loudly and forcefully across the table into the corner pocket.

His opponent lets out a quick whistle. "Nice job, man." Bills are presented between two upraised fingers.

Booth glowers. "Keep it," he says flatly, angrily. With that, he's snatching his coat and stalking out of the bar, Brennan close at his heels.

Once outside, he hails a cab and hops in. Trying, _needing_, to escape her.

Resolutely, she slides in next to him and gives the cab driver instructions for Booth's residence.

Booth ignores her, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring out the window. They sit in stony silence.

* * *

"Thank you," Brennan says, handing the driver some bills as they arrive. Booth is already out the door and stumbling up the porch. It's begun to rain. Brennan hurries after him.

"Booth," she calls uselessly after him. She's ignored. "Booth!"

"Go home, Brennan."

He's ignored.

She hovers uncomfortably at his side as he fumbles with his keys, nearly dropping them twice.

"Here," she says at last, prying them from his stubborn fingers. "Let me help."

"Don't need help," he mumbles petulantly to his shoes. Water is dripping onto his face, making him look even more melancholy than he already is.

A second later, she's pushing the door open and motioning him inside. He huffs, stomping across the threshold. Two more stumbles, and Brennan threads her arm through his to keep him steady. She shivers a little at the cold and the contact.

"I don't need help," he maintains. "I don't," he adds a little more quietly.

"I know," she whispers. His weight against her makes her struggle some, but they manage their way.

Up the stairs, down the hall, to his apartment door.

"Give me back your keys," she instructs him. He glares at her. "Please, Booth."

Slowly, his arm raises to produce the mass of metal, one finger looped through a single ring holding them up. Their eyes lock over his hand. She snatches them before he can protest further and assigns them to his lock.

"Here," she says, swinging the door open. "Get inside. Get warm." She'll need to do the same.

He wanders in, and she sets to work on locking up.

When she turns around, he's standing aimlessly in the middle of the room, still dripping wet.

"Booth," she reprimands quietly, almost to herself and without any real reproach. Shedding her jacket, she moves his way and begins to tug the coat off his wide shoulders.

He blinks himself into awareness at her unprompted touch, watching her silently as she then moves on to his tie and shoulder holsters. They're sneaking glances at each other until their eyes meet and hold the connection. His hair is in damp spikes, hers forming dark tendrils around her face.

"I'll be back," she tells him. "Where do you keep this?" she asks, nodding to the holsters.

"Peg near the kitchen," he murmurs, gaze drifting back to his feet. "Sidearm goes in the safe in my closet."

"Okay."

She's gone then, leaving him standing there.

Carefully and with meticulous focus, she deposits his damp tie over his shower stall in the bathroom. Returning to the kitchen, she hangs his holster over the peg as he'd instructed. When she returns to the living room, magazine clip and sidearm in hand, he's not there.

Her search proves short-lived. Entering the bedroom, she finds him stretched out on his back in the bed, over the covers.

Hesitantly, she asks, "Where did these go? In the safe?"

His hand flops out tiredly on the bed, pointing her in the direction of his closet. "Key's on the chain."

She deposits the items in her hands into the small safe inside his closet, afterwards leaving his key ring on his dresser. Cautiously, as though approaching a moody lion, she positions herself at his bedside, slowly lowering herself to sit awkwardly at the mattress edge. "Do you need anything else?"

He's laying there, his previously fierce mood having faded from disquieting silence, and now to that same sadness from That Night.

"Booth?"

He speaks quietly to the ceiling. "Why wouldn't we work out, Bones?" It feels like a pencil is forced through her heart at his small voice. "Why wouldn't we? I love you, I'd make sure we'd be okay. I want us to be okay." His eyes are filming over again. "God, this hurts."

His face contorts in grief and he rolls away from her, clutching half-heartedly at his pillow. Brennan bites her lip—hard—to silence the breathless sob that pleads to escape. She can't do this again. Can't watch him fall apart, because of her, _again_.

She loathes the idea of leaving him, and knows since getting him home and settled into his bed that she will not be able to. Leave.

She can't leave him.

Tentatively, she reaches out, smoothing her fingers over the hair at his temple. "I don't know anymore, Booth," she whispers. Then, after awhile: "…Get some sleep."

Brennan situates herself on the couch, fearing what will happen when the morning comes and Booth looses that child-like despair and becomes angry again. She eventually resigns herself to the fact that she'll most likely be kicked out of his apartment. By him.

Banned from his life.

_I deserve it_, she thinks.

She'd banned him from her heart. No matter how impossible it was to eradicate the marks he'd already left on it.

* * *

The world is becoming brighter on the other side of her eyelids.

Brennan knows she's awake, but hates the idea of welcoming herself to the outside realm today. Or _any_ day, as is becoming the case.

Regrettably, she opens her eyes, blinking against the sudden light. Her gaze eventually lands on the surprising sight of her partner, who is currently seated on the corner of his coffee table, staring at her calmly.

She stares back, bemusedly, not sure what to say, how to react.

Then, slowly, he extends a cup of coffee to her. And there's that little Booth Half-Smile on his face that has her heart doing somersaults.

"Morning, Bones."

His voice is his, the _his_ she remembers. It's a little nervous and a little husky from sleep and other such things, but it's him. It sends tiny shivers through her.

Gingerly, she accepts the coffee offering, watching him apprehensively over the rim of the cup. "Thank you."

His little grin expands into a full-blown smile. It doesn't reach his eyes, but it's more than she's seen from him in the past couple days. "You're the one who's supposed to be handing out the coffee. I'm the one who's hung over, Lazy Bones."

A startled smile stretches her lips in amusement and private relief. "You don't look like you're in pain."

He stares at her. "…I am."

The guilt comes rushing back like a tidal wave.

Booth notices it immediately, too good at reading her for their own good. "Sorry," he quickly says, brown eyes rounding in concern. "I didn't mean…"

Brennan looks away and wipes discreetly at her eyes, sniffing once. "It doesn't matter what you meant. It doesn't change that I'm an idiot." Her voice trails off, contorted by building emotion.

"You're not an idiot," he tells her, his voice soft. "Why are you being so hard on yourself? Listen, I know I acted like a jackass… did I say something awful last night that I don't remember?" He's immediately dismayed with the possibility.

Which only tugs at her more. "Nothing that I didn't deserve."

The pain in his eyes makes her nearly cave in on herself. "Please, don't do that. It's my fault you're treating yourself like this, and it's… I can't. It's wrong. Just… I take it back, okay? Just don't… please, Brennan, stop. You're hurting yourself because of me, and it's… I can't take it…"

"I love you."

Booth goes completely still.

Brennan goes on, oblivious to his reaction. "And I'm pushing you away. I deserve it."

He's _looking_ at her.

She sighs, and it's teary and it's full of internal upheaval. "Why are you… _nice_ to me?"

His eyes remain locked on her face.

"My treatment of you is usually terrible, and I…" She finally addresses the way he's gone so silent. "…_what_?"

He takes a very deep breath, jaw trembling just a little.

Then, universes align.

"I'm going to kiss you, Bones. Because I love you. You're going to allow it, because you love me. And we're going to do this, we're going to have something. A relationship, because we love each other. Because it's stupid for two people not to have each other when they're in love. We're going to make it work because we want it to. You love me today, so let's have today. You'll still love me tomorrow, so let's plan for tomorrow. It's one day at a time. It's what we do. What we've always done. One day at a time."

It's her who's staring now.

Positively enraptured. By him, by what this all means.

Both their lives are going to be turned on their axis. Which isn't that terrible of an idea, after all. Where did that fear go that she'd been displaying? Where is the rationale she'd been clinging to like a drowning woman? She still wants to protect him, but… maybe… _maybe_, protecting him was what was destroying him. Destroying _them_.

Evidence proves her error. Which is like a heavenly choir to her, no matter how ludicrous.

He'd told her he was going to kiss her.

So he does.

And, this time, she lets him.

_Counsel hope for the future, for it will be bright if you make it so._


End file.
